Forgiveness
by Enola
Summary: I’m beyond redemption. I never forgave Peter, and he paid for it with his life. How can he possibly forgive me for the sin I committed against him? How can I ask for something I couldn’t give a child?
1. Hook's Curse

Chapter 1

"Play with me," the child demanded softly, staring at the Captain with sad eyes.

Hook ignored the boy hovering only a few feet away, keeping his eyes locked on the crewman he was addressing.  "Keep her steady, Mr. Starkey.  We should reach the island by midday tomorrow, if the wind stays true."

"Aye, Captain," Starkey answered, making the course adjustments Hook had given him.

"Please play with me, Codfish," the boy called again, his tone turning sulky.  "I'm lonely."

"Not now, Pan," Hook growled under his breath.

"Sir?" Starkey inquired, looking at the man with a trace of worry in his eyes.

Hook shook his head and turned away, staring out over the ocean waves.  Peter alighted on the banister and began walking along it, his arms out as he balanced himself.  Hook watched the child's antics with a heavy heart, but soon his eyes were drawn to the stump of the boy's right arm.  Without really thinking about it, he closed his hand about the small bag that hung from a string around his neck.  _My albatross._

"I'm sorry, Peter," he murmured.  The boy looked up at him sharply and gave him a wry smile.

"Then let me go," Peter answered as he floated towards the man.

"I can't," Hook whispered.  He turned away and quickly retired to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.  He knew Peter would follow him, regardless.  But it kept his crew from seeing his weakness and shut away their whispers from his ears.

Mullins glanced at the cabin door and shook his head.  "This ship's accursed, and so's her captain.  I say when we make port, we jump ship an' don't come back."

"We're all guilty o' th' same sin, Robert Mullins," Smee chided, worry lining his face.  "If we be cursed, don't think fer a moment that fleein' th' ship'll save us."

"He doesn't blame us anymore," Bill Jukes spoke up.  "We've made our peace and found forgiveness.  It's just th' Cap'n that won't let Pan go."

"Cap'n'll never let th' lad go," Smee answered.  "He can't live without Pan, and he's never been one fer forgiveness."

"Which is exactly why we should leave," Mullins growled.

Hook removed his hat and coat before pouring himself a glass of rum.  He downed a third of it before sitting in his chair.  Peter appeared by the bookcase across the room and idly began rearranging the books, according to color by Hook's guess.  The boy quickly grew tired of that, though, and turned to stare at the man.  

Hook couldn't meet the child's gaze, so he turned his attention to the hook attached to his own arm, watching the candlelight reflect off of the smooth metal.  It gave him some fortitude and he felt the old, comfortable anger well up in his heart.  _That brat did this to me.  It's his own damned fault!_  

"Go away, Pan," he snarled, but he knew such demands were wasted on the boy.  

Peter approached the man and reached out with his left hand, holding it above the hook as if to touch it.  Hook shuddered when he saw the transparent hand, seeing through the ghostly flesh to view his own claw.  "Leave me in peace, spirit," the man pleaded, his voice breaking slightly.  "I said I'm sorry, Peter.  Why can't you forgive me like you forgave them?"

"Let me go," the boy said in answer, his hand drifting up to reach for the pouch hanging around Hook's neck.  "Free me and free yourself, Codfish."

Hook removed the pouch and opened it, removing the contents and laying them on the desk.  Peter drew back, giving a muffled sob before fading away.  For a few moments after he had gone, Hook could still hear the child weeping.  

On the desk lay the skeleton of a child's right hand, the small white bones seeming to glow in the candlelight.  Reverently, Hook caressed a finger, touching it lightly so as to not damage it.  "My trophy, my prize, my sin and my bane," he murmured, the words now a ritual whenever he uncovered the bones.  He quickly finished off his rum and poured another, deciding that today was a good day to get drunk.  He'd pay for it later with nightmares and memories, but he preferred the nightmares to the ghost.  Peter couldn't bear the sight of Hook's gruesome trophy, and wouldn't return for as long as it was out.  Hook had tried to use it as a talisman to banish the boy forever, but while Peter hadn't become visible during that time, his disembodied wails had nearly driven the man insane.  At least when he could see the boy, he knew the child wasn't suffering as much. 

 So Hook drank, as was becoming his habit more often of late.  After Peter's death, he'd worn the pouch with as much pride as shame.  He hadn't intended for the boy to die, but Peter had and there had been no sense in feeling guilty for it then.  His relief at being free of Pan had momentarily overwhelmed the shock he felt.  But when Neverland had disappeared below the horizon, he'd found himself weeping for the dead child.  And that night, Billy Jukes awoke the entire ship with his screams of terror.

Peter had stood on the deck, his ghostly form leaning against the railing, staring out at the ocean.  He'd disappeared again soon afterwards, but he'd reappeared often enough for all the men to see.  The crew became fearful and edgy, seeing the child on the deck, in the kitchen, the brig… all the places he'd been kept that fateful day.  The bloodstain on the deck was given a wide berth, even though Peter was never seen in that spot.  Mullins briefly spoke of mutiny, but Jukes interceded to stop him.

Unknown to the crew and the captain, Billy had begun speaking to the spirit.  He claimed he didn't know why, just that he'd felt pity one evening when he saw Peter crying.  He'd asked the spirit if he could do anything to help him, and Peter had smiled and asked to play.  Jukes had granted the request and played a rhyming game, and soon Peter had begun to smile.  That small reassurance had given the gunner the heart to speak candidly with Pan, and in the course of the next few days he'd spoken with the spirit more often.  When Peter heard Mullins speak of mutiny, believing that disposing of Hook would rid the ship of the ghost, he'd assured Billy that that wasn't the case.  He told the boy that he was still a prisoner of all the pirates, and that he'd still be bound to the ship if Hook was gone.  Seeing no benefit to a risky mutiny, Mullins had withdrawn his idea.  

Not long after that, Billy had apologized to the spirit, expressing his heartfelt regret for his part in Peter's murder.  The ghost had smiled and faded away.  Jukes never again saw nor heard Peter… but the other men did.  Mullins had been the next to swallow his fear and speak to Peter, hoping for the same result that Billy got.  Soon all the pirates conversed with the boy, and one by one they asked for and received Peter's forgiveness – all except for Hook.  Peter wouldn't speak to the man, only stared at him sadly before turning away.  When one of the men spoke to the child in Hook's presence, the captain never heard Peter's side of the conversation.  It wasn't until all the men had stopped seeing Pan that the boy finally answered Hook.

The Captain had cut right to the chase, offering the boy his apologies in proper form.  He hadn't been prepared for Peter's tears, and had been very upset the next time he'd seen the boy.  At first he didn't understand why the child still haunted him, why the offer of peace hadn't worked for him as it had for the other men.  But he knew now.  He knew and understood all too well.

_I'm beyond redemption.  I never forgave Peter, and he paid for it with his life.  How can he possibly forgive me for the sin I committed against him?  How can I ask for something I couldn't give a child?_  Hook looked at his bottle of rum, and nodded when he saw it was nearly gone.  Working carefully, he put the hand back into the pouch and set it on his desk.  He wore it most of the time when he was awake, but the skeleton was too fragile for him to sleep with.  As soon as it was out of sight, Peter's voice echoed in the room.

"Why do you hurt yourself so much?" the childish voice asked.  

"No one else here is man enough to do it," Hook growled as he staggered to his bed.  He felt surreal, thoughts of Peter unable to upset him while he was in this state.  And Peter hated it when he drank… even when he was alive, the child wouldn't come near the ship if he saw that the Captain had been drinking.  Once he reached his bed, he collapsed upon it, sighing as he sank into the comfortable softness.  It didn't even bother him to remember that Peter had died in this bed.  He was beyond caring, and his only regret was that he couldn't feel like this forever.

He was nearly asleep when he felt the blankets being shifted to cover him, and heard the boy's voice whisper, "Sleep well, Codfish."

Not for the first time, Hook wondered why, if the boy could move things, why didn't he take his revenge and kill the man that had killed him.  But then he fell into sleep, and in sleep he found the nightmare he knew would come.  And the nightmare was even more horrifying because it was true.


	2. Nightmare of the Past

Chapter 2

Hook stood in the doorway of the brig and stared at his two small prisoners.  The children lay facing each other, sleeping, their bodies curled towards one another.  It was as much comfort as they could give each other, their wrists being bound together behind their backs and their ankles lashed together.  One of his men, most likely Smee, had shown the two consideration enough to drape blankets over them and shove hay beneath their heads for pillows.  

_Small mercies, Pan, small mercies are all you will be getting from me,_ the Captain thought as he stared at the boy's sleeping face.  The child seemed angelic now, innocent and pure, and had Hook been in a better mood, he would have broken at the sight and left them in peace.  But no, not after a night of listening to the crocodile ticking beneath his window.  Not after a night spent reading about all of Pan's atrocities in his diary, his few short hours of sleep spent dreaming of those humiliating defeats.  This angelic demon had brutally maimed him.  Today he was going to atone.

Hook smiled as he stepped towards the two, holding the bucket steady to not slosh its contents.  When he was close enough, he poured the cold water on Peter's head, shocking him and Wendy awake.  "Rise and shine, brats!" he laughed, watching as Peter sputtered and thrashed, trying to shake the water out of his eyes.  Wendy merely squeaked, the gag in her mouth limiting her range of vocal responses. 

Dropping the now-empty bucket, Hook turned and nodded to Mason and Mullins.  As the two men stepped forward to each lift a child, Hook left the brig and returned to the deck.  Mason and Mullins followed, carrying the struggling prisoners.  

Not a word was spoken while the final preparations were made.  Mullins handed Wendy to Cookson, who held the girl upright to the side of the staging area, and went to help Mason with Pan.  The boy's wrists were untied, but with much struggling the two men got Peter's left arm lashed securely to his side, while a thin but tough leather strap was fastened about his right wrist.  Mason had to kick the boy's legs out from under him to make him kneel.  Despite Peter's efforts to resist, all too soon he was on his knees before the wooden crate, his right arm held over the flat surface by Mullins, who held to the leather tether to keep him there.  

Hook watched the little drama with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.  He enjoyed seeing Pan being forced to submit; all too often the cocky brat had danced out of the traps set for him, and it was refreshing to see him brought under control.  When the boy was in place, Mullins holding his hand while Mason kept him kneeling, Hook stepped forward and removed the gag.

Peter glared at Hook, "Let Wendy go, Codfish."

Hook smiled pleasantly and nodded at the gagged girl.  "Ah, yes, Miss Wendy, the girl dearest to your heart.  It caught me quite by surprise when I spied the two of you alone in the woods.  But then, as every boy knows, the only way to steal kisses from a girl is to do it away from distractions and discovery."  Hook leered at Peter, giving the boy a knowing wink.  "Did her lips taste sweet, Pan?"

Peter blushed bright red and glanced over at Wendy.  Hook had caught them when they had snuck off together, and because of that, no one knew they were missing.  Peter had been so engrossed in kissing Wendy and the strange excitement he felt at doing it that he'd never heard the pirates creeping up on them.  And now they were trapped.  "What are you up to, Captain?"

Hook squatted down to look the boy in the eyes.  "Atonement, Pan.  You've wronged me, boy, and now is the time for you to pay for your crime."

"You'll never kill me," Peter interrupted, but the captain quickly covered the boy's mouth, making a shushing noise.  

"Now's not the time for brave words and posturing, Pan.  I've had enough of that out of you," Hook explained slowly.  "I decided that the reason I've failed against you is because I've set my goal too high.  I have no intention of killing you.  As a matter of fact, Smee, Starkey, and Jukes are standing by to give you the best care possible, which is an advantage I didn't have.  You'll even convalesce in my cabin, where it is clean and the air is fresh.  And when you've recovered, I'm going to send you home.  After that, I will leave this place forever."  

Peter frowned and turned to look at the three pirates Hook had mentioned.  Smee and Starkey stood close by, holding a bottle of whiskey and an assortment of cloths and bandages.  Jukes stood next to a large pot of coals.  He pulled out a large, flat piece of red-hot metal, then nodded to Hook before plunging it back into the fire.  Peter noticed the boy looked rather pale and that his hands were shaking.

"What are you going to do?" Peter asked softly, dread building in his stomach.  His mind was putting together the clues, and the answer he obtained terrified him.

"Have you ever heard the saying 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'?" Hook replied, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

Peter blinked.  "You want to cut off my hand," he whispered, his eyes growing wide.

Hook smiled and drew his freshly sharpened sword.  "Aye."

Both children instantly went wild, panic seizing them.  Cookson lost control of Wendy, but the girl's bound feet kept her from doing anything but fall to the deck.  Once he picked her back up, she continued to try to kick him, not caring that she couldn't go anywhere.  Her only thought was to help Peter.  Pan writhed in Mason's grip, trying to wriggle free while pulling against the strap Mullins held.  His fear gave him strength, but still his small muscles were no match for the two strong adults.  They held him fast and Mason didn't comment when Peter managed to turn his head enough to bite the man.  

Hook let the boy struggle, enjoying the terror he'd managed to instill in him.  He wondered briefly if Peter would find a way to escape, then shook his head.  Pan always escaped, it was inevitable.  But that didn't keep him from trying to kill him anyway.  "It's rather strange," he said at last, "that you defy death without blinking and laugh at the reaper while you spit in his eye.  But I merely threaten to maim you, and you fall to pieces.  Where's your backbone, Pan?"

Peter froze, his gaze locking on the Captain.  "Are you merely trying to scare me, Hook?  Or have you found the courage to take me on when your lackeys are holding me down?"

It was Hook's turn to flush, but he gave the boy a low chuckle.  "Don't worry, Pan, I understand why you're afraid.  You are the eternal youth.  You don't fear death because you can't comprehend it.  But you can comprehend what I now have in store for you.  You can understand it because you've seen it up close.  You cut off my hand boy," Hook snarled, his voice becoming more sinister as his anger grew.  "I remember that day as if it just happened.  I remember the pain, and I remember seeing you standing there with my blood on your face and on the sword in your hand.  Tell me, boy, did you revel in my screams?  You came to see me often while I recovered, but you thought I slept then.  Did you enjoy seeing me laid low?  Did you hope to get a sense of death by watching me pass on?"

"Of course not!" Peter snapped, his eyes flashing angrily.  "I'm not a monster like you."

"No," Hook roared, "you are much worse than a monster!  You are an aberration, an abomination of nature and all the laws of man.  You flit about all day, causing mayhem and strife.  You never suffer the consequences of your actions!  NO LONGER!  I have suffered long enough, and I shall suffer no longer.  You will PAY!"  Hook raised his sword and brought it down in a deadly arc.  He saw the surprise in the boy's eyes, watched as it turned to shock.  He barely felt the resistance as his blade cut through flesh and bone, the force of his blow passing completely though the boy's arm above the wrist.  It sank into the wood with a thud, and for a moment all was still.

Mullins teetered back on his heels, caught by surprise by the sudden lack of resistance on the other end of the strap.  He regained his balance but nearly fell again when he beheld the severed hand dangling from the piece of leather.  And then the air was rent by the high-pitched, hysterical scream of a child.  


	3. Day of Atonement

Chapter 3

Hook jerked awake, Peter's agonized cry still ringing in his mind.  He sat up quickly and collapsed again at the jarring pain in his head.  A child's chuckle reached his ears, and he turned to see Peter hovering by the window, his dim glow providing the only illumination in the room.   Hook gave a disappointed grunt and turned his head away, trying to pretend the boy wasn't there.

Peter sighed and turned to look back out the window.  "I never understood how much you hated me, Captain.  Even now, you hate me so much."

_I don't hate you,_ he thought to himself.  He wanted to say it aloud, to give the boy some kind of reassurance, but the words caught in his throat.  He didn't want to encourage the shade to speak.  Any words Peter spoke would only drive the thorn of guilt further into his heart, and drive him further into madness.  

"Smee left you another bottle.  He tried to speak to me, but he couldn't see or hear me.  I'm glad they don't see me anymore, but it gets so lonely with only you to talk to.  I wish if you were going to keep me here, you'd at least play with me and stop making me hide."

Hook sat back up at hearing he had a new bottle, and saw that it indeed sat on the small table by his bed.  Smee understood, they all understood how terrible it was to see the wan, one handed ghost and to hear his sad voice.  But the choice it seemed was either to drink himself to death or to endure the boy until it drove him to insanity.  Taking up the bottle, Hook took a long pull off of it, sighing as the ache in his head began to subside.  He stared at the ghost, watching as the boy looked out the window.  Finally he could stand it no longer and asked, "What do you see when you stare at the horizon?  You do it all the time."

"I see home," Peter replied.  "And I want to go there, where those who love me wait, but you bind me here and all I can do is to see it from afar."

Hook looked at the pouch on the desk.  He knew the sight of it pained Peter, and thought that it was the reason the boy haunted him.  He'd tried to rid himself of it twice – once by incinerating it and once by throwing it overboard.  But both times he'd been unable to go through with it.  He'd nearly been unable to continue before when he'd finally realized that Peter was gone forever, when he'd left Neverland behind and realized that no longer would he hear the boy's laughter, never again cross blades or fall victim to his childish pranks.  It hurt him to keep the boy's ghost here, but he couldn't dispose of the hand… it would be like murdering Peter all over again.  _I'm damned and I deserve it.  I deserve it because even now, I'm too proud and selfish to let the boy go.  _

"Don't worry, Pan," he said, then took another pull on the bottle.  "I'm not long for this world myself, and once I'm gone you will be free.  You said so yourself that if I died then I couldn't keep you here."

Peter shook his head and began to fade.  "Please, Captain, let me go.  You must, before you die."

"Why?" Hook snapped, "Why won't you just explain it to me?"

Peter disappeared completely, but a final whisper reached his ears.  "I can't.  I don't understand it; I just feel that you must."

  Hook growled and drank until the familiar drowsiness took hold of him.  He lay back down then, closing his eyes and letting himself fall back into sleep.  As he drifted off, he thought he heard the boy's voice whispering in his ear:  "Remember."

Hook stared in confusion at his sword, not quite understanding why Peter's arm seemed to pass through the blade.  Then the hand was pulled away from the steel as Mullins lost his balance, and Hook perceived the blood that covered the arm and the hand, pouring out of the flesh to pool on the deck.  Then Peter screamed, pulling his suddenly free arm away and staring at the bloody stump in horror.

_He didn't get away… he didn't escape.  I got him at last!  I cut off his hand…_  Hook jerked out of his stupor, the urgency of the situation sinking in.  His men were all staring, stunned, while Peter lay on the deck, his life draining away.  "Starkey, Smee!  Help him!" he yelled as he went for the boy himself, lifting the child up.  

Peter's skin had gone deathly pale and was alarmingly cool to the touch.  His screams abruptly stopped, and he stared straight ahead without seeing, breathing shallowly.  His mind was shutting down, blocking away the pain and most thought, putting him into a state of basic survival.  His pulse fluttered in his veins as his heart faltered, losing the blood supply it needed to continue.  But continue it did, fighting for life.  Starkey was the first of the crew to recover and rushed to the boy.  Smee followed a heartbeat behind.  Hook held the boy while the two men tended to his injury, muttering at them to hurry up and staunch the bleeding.  Peter was in shock, and if they didn't help him soon he would die in his arms.  

"Jukes, bring the iron," Smee called, snapping the gunner back to his senses.  Billy jumped, then grabbed the handle to the hot iron and pulled it free.  "Put it to the wound, lad," Smee instructed, his voice calm but insistent.  "We gots th' bleedin' mostly stopped, now ya have to cauterize it."  

Billy paused a moment, afraid.  But then he looked at Peter, recognizing the child's dire situation.  Hook hadn't looked this bad when he'd lost his own hand, but Hook's body was stronger than Peter's.  Billy had done this for his captain, he could do it now for Pan.  Steeling himself, he thrust the red-hot metal against the bleeding flesh.  

Peter screamed once more as the pain returned, cutting through the cocoon his mind had spun around itself.  He went rigid in Hook's arms, trying to pull his hurt arm away from the men, away from the agonizing burning.  Then, mercifully, he passed out and was unaware of anything else.

"Mason, stoke up the kitchen fire," Hook ordered.  "We have to get him warm."  He would have made Cookson do it, but the cook was busily untying Wendy, who had fainted when Hook had made his cruel cut.  When Smee nodded, indicating he'd done what he could for now, Hook cradled the boy to his chest and carried him to the kitchen.

They laid him on the table and propped his legs up to help the blood flow to his vitals.  Peter was cold and his pulse was so faint that at first they thought he'd died.  But the bleeding was stopped, and if he could recover from the shock then he might survive.  Hook stood to the side and allowed Smee and Starkey to continue their ministrations on the boy.  As he watched he remembered a time long ago, when it had been himself lying on the table with Smee and Starkey tending to his amputated hand.  Pieces of that horrible day replayed themselves as the men's actions now mirrored what they'd done for him then.  And once more he felt his hate for the boy surge to the forefront.  "I got you, Pan," he whispered.  "I've claimed from you what you took from me.  And I'll show you the mercy you wouldn't show me by ensuring you'll recover."

Hours later, Hook sat in his room.  He took a sip of wine as he listened to Smee speak to the unconscious boy.  Smee kept telling Peter that he'd be fine now, that the worst was over and that all he had to do now was rest.  Once again, Hook was struck with the memory of the bosun saying exactly those same things to him.  Peter lay in Hook's own bed, his legs and injured arm propped up on pillows.  His bloody clothes lay in a pile by the bed, the blankets piled high on his naked body to trap in the meager heat he could make on his own.

"I doubt the boy can hear you, Smee," Hook said quietly, not wishing to disturb the child's rest by yelling.

"Ye never know, Cap'n," Smee replied, "T'were many times I spoke with ya, not thinkin' ya could hear me.  Yet ya remember more o' that time than I thought ya would."  He double checked the bandage on Peter's arm, shaking his head.  "The lad lost too much blood, too fast."  He turned to his captain.  "I dinna think ya were gonna do it fer real, Cap'n, else I'd have put a tourniquet on the lad's arm before ya cut."

_I didn't think I'd do it either… I thought for sure he'd escape once more, more fearful of me this time but alive._  "I wasn't planning on doing it so soon, Smee," he said instead, "I was going to terrify the brat more first, perhaps wait for the Croc to come so I could tempt her with a morsel of Pan.  I lost my temper and made the cut when I wasn't ready."

There was a knock at the door, and at Hook's call Jukes entered.  "Cap'n," he said lowly, not looking across the room to see Peter.  "Miss Wendy is awake again, but she's in hysterics.  She demands to see Pan, or to at least know how he's doing.  Starkey's sitting with her, but she won't calm down."

Hook grimaced and sighed.  He'd forgotten about Wendy.  "Tell her he lives and that his bleeding has stopped.  If she won't calm, have Starkey give her some rum.  I want her kept under lock and key, but make sure she's comfortable.  I'll let her see the boy when he's gotten some of his color back."  Hook looked to Peter and frowned.  Smee was right, the boy had lost a lot of blood in a very short amount of time.  He looked like death warmed over, and if it weren't for the gentle rise and fall of the blankets, he could easily believe the child was truly dead.  "Wendy's suffered enough horror as it is.  I want her calm when she comes to see her friend."


	4. One Last Kiss

Chapter 4

Peter lay silent for two days.  Both Hook and Smee knew this was a mercy for him, and prayed that he'd sleep for as long as he could before waking to the pain once more.  After the first day, Peter developed a fever as infection set in his wound.  This wasn't unexpected, but the red streak that was slowly creeping up the boy's arm was an ominous sign – blood poisoning.  Both men hoped that the fairy magic that clung to the boy, combined with the legendary resilience of children, would help his weakened body overcome this new trial.  But despite Smee's care, the infection worsened at an alarming rate.  

Smee sat with him full time, even sleeping at the foot of Hook's bed so he could be there when the boy awoke.  It was nearing midnight of the third day when Peter gave a low moan and stirred.  Hook was still awake, reading, when he heard the boy.  He called for Smee but remained where he was.  Peter would be more likely to panic if he saw the captain looming over him.  

Peter's eyes fluttered open and he whimpered softly, pulling his arm to his chest.  Smee intercepted him and gently pulled the arm back down, careful to not touch him anywhere close to the end of the stump.  Peter was too weak to offer any resistance, so he let the old man restrain him and turned to focus his eyes on him.

"Don't move yer arm, lad," Smee warned gently.  "Ye'll be in a whole new world o' hurtin' if ya bump it."

"Wendy," Peter moaned.

"Th' lass is safe.  She's been worried 'bout ya, but no one's treated her badly," Smee reassured the boy.

"Wendy," the boy called again.  "…want Wendy."

Smee looked at the Captain, and Hook nodded.  The old bosun looked back down at the boy and gave him a smile.  "I'll bring 'er, lad.  If ya can stay awake long enough, I'll wake her fer ya.  She'll be tickled pink ta see ya."

"Warn her, Smee," Hook told the man.  "She hasn't seen him since I cut him, and I don't want her in hysterics over him.  The last thing he needs is to be upset."

Smee nodded and left the two alone in the cabin.  Peter tried to shift in the bed, but pain lanced up his arm, making him cry out.  Once more he pulled his arm up.  His eyes locked on the bandage, seeing where his arm stopped in an unnatural, sudden way.  Hook watched the boy intently, wondering what Peter would do.  He expected him to grieve his loss or perhaps to become angry (Hook himself had done both, in that order), but Peter did neither.  Instead the child gave a weary sigh and laid his arm back down.  Silence reigned in the room until, at last, Peter spoke.

  "I'm cold," he whispered, so softly that Hook wasn't sure he really heard him.  But when the boy used his remaining hand to pull the blankets tighter, Hook rose and draped another one over him.  He covered Peter's arm instead of trying to tuck the blanket under it, deciding that the less Wendy saw of the arm right now, the better.

Peter's eyes locked with his, and the two enemies stared at one another.  Hook noticed the fever-shine in Peter's eyes, making the wildness that was usually there now seem like insanity.  He also noted the dry, cracked lips, so he took up a glass of water and dipped a rag in the cool liquid.  Peter didn't make any movement as the man brought the wet cloth to his mouth, but he eagerly sucked the moisture from it, letting it relieve his throat.  He never looked away from Hook's face.

"I'll give you more water in a little while," the Captain said as he rewet the cloth and let the boy drink again.  "Perhaps some broth if you're still awake."

Peter remained silent and once he was finished with the cloth, Hook returned to his book to wait for Smee to bring Wendy.  But try as he might, he couldn't concentrate on the words.  Peter's silent stare bore into him, and it was all he could do to ignore it.  But though he didn't look up, he could still see Peter's eyes - bright with fever from the sickness that was spreading through his small, frail body.  He realized then that Peter would die, and that he was going to break the only promise he'd ever made to the child that he'd fully intended to keep.

When Smee escorted Wendy into the room, she was all smiles and motherly concern.  She faltered only a moment when she saw her friend lying in the bed, so pale and sick.  But Hook knew the girl had rare backbone, and she found it again quick enough to hide her fear and worry.  Without a glance at the captain, Wendy rushed to the bed.

"Peter?" she called as she carefully settled by his side, mindful of the too-short lump beneath the covers.  "Oh, Peter, I've been so worried!  They wouldn't let me see you and take care of you!  Tell me what you need."

Peter smiled at the girl and extended his hand to her.  She took it with a smile and held on tightly.  "He's won," the boy said softly, "Hook's won the game.  Now I have to make sure that he doesn't end all the games forever."  He sighed and closed his eyes a moment.  "Are you well, Wendy?"

Wendy glanced at Smee and nodded.  "I'm fine, Peter.  They haven't kept me locked up or anything, and Mr. Starkey has been really nice.  I haven't escaped because I've been waiting for you to get better.  Nibs came to rescue us, but…" she glared at Hook, and the captain saw raw murder in her eyes, "Captain Hook told Nibs they could take me, but if they even tried to come get you, he'd take your head before they got close.  After what he did to you… we knew he'd do it."

"I'm glad you stayed," Peter whispered.  Tears began to course down the sides of his face towards his ears.  "I wish I could have seen them again, but I can at least tell _you goodbye."_

Wendy's smile disappeared.  "Don't talk like that, Peter!  You'll get better and come home with me!  Hook said he'd leave when you were well, so you _have_ to get better.  We need you, Peter."

"I so tired, Wendy.  I'm trying to hold on, but every minute it's like I get further and further away.  Everything is so thin… and I can almost look through the walls and see something else.  I don't know what, but I know it's wonderful.  But something's holding me here… I know part of it's you and part is Codfish, but I don't understand it."

"So stay for me, Peter!" Wendy insisted.  "Stay for Hook if you have to!  Hold on to whatever you can, just don't leave!"  She began crying too, but she didn't care anymore.  Her fear filled her, fear for Peter and for herself and all the other Lost Boys.  What would they do without him?

"I'll try," Peter whispered, raising his hand to wipe away a tear from the girl's cheek.  "But I need you to hold onto something for me, in case I can't stay." 

"What is it?"

"Will you take care of Neverland for me?  Will you become what I am, and take care of everyone until I'm better?"  

"I…" Wendy faltered.  "I don't know if I can, Peter.  What if I'm not good enough?"

Peter smiled and took her hand again.  "You'll be wonderful Wendy, just like you always are.  You'll be the Mother of Neverland if you want and sister to all the fairy creatures."  Absently he tried to reach for her with his missing hand, the habit of a lifetime making him forget for a moment despite the pain.  He stifled a moan as he pulled it free of the blankets, and laid the arm back down by his side.  "Please, Wendy, I need you to keep everyone safe."

Wendy nodded.  "I'll do anything for you, Peter.  I love you… but I'm scared."

"I'm scared too, Wendy.  And I love you, too."

She caressed the boy's face.  "I'll take care of Neverland and the Boys while you're gone, Peter.  I promise and I'll make you proud."

"One more kiss, Wendy," Peter asked, "one last kiss and then you have to go home.  I'll call for you when I need you, I promise."

Wendy leaned forward and placed her lips lightly on the boy's.  She startled at the fever she felt in them, but she closed her eyes and ignored it, concentrating on her love as she kissed him.  Peter kissed her back and warmth flooded her body.  Warmth and a growing tingling feeling in her heart as Peter surrendered to her everything within him that was Neverland.


	5. Ashes to Ashes

Chapter 5

Hook watched and listened to the two children speak and he felt a lead weight growing in his heart.  He wasn't used to feeling guilt, and he didn't like it.  _Damn that boy!  Damn him for spiting me to the end!  I fight him for years, intending to kill him, and yet he escapes me every time.  But for once I intend for him to live, and he decides to die!  He wanted to blame the boy, wanted to believe that the child was giving up too easily.  _I lived through it, why won't he?_  He knew it was irrational.  Peter was much weaker, physically, than he was, and it was a grave wound that he'd given the child.  It really had been a miracle that he himself had survived.  __I remember Pan coming to my room when I was ill… Smee was always asleep then.  Pan would come and play his damned pipes and I'd feel better when he left.  But I still wanted to tear his throat out while he was here._

The things Peter said to the girl disturbed Hook.  The boy was giving up and preparing to die.  Hook had been like that for a short time.  His grief for his loss and his shame in letting a child disfigure him had driven him to the depths of depression.  He would have died had he not found something to live for.  He'd lived for Pan.  He'd found his rage and vowed he'd recover and kill the brat.  And now the boy lay dying, and he began to wonder what he'd live for once the child passed on.

Hook smirked as Wendy bent to kiss Peter, but soon that smirk faded to open mouthed wonder.  A soft glow arose around the two children, like a white mist.  It seemed to rise off of Peter to surround them for a few long moments before disappearing into Wendy.  Only then did Wendy break the kiss, and when she slowly sat back up, Hook saw that Peter's eyes were closed.  

"By Pew's deadlights, what was that?" Hook asked the girl.

Wendy ignored him; instead she wiped Peter's face until all the tears were dry, then she straightened the blankets around the boy.  "Goodbye, Peter," she whispered and gave him another gentle kiss to the cheek.  Only then did she stand and look at Hook, and the man nearly dropped his book at the gaze she affixed upon him.  She was changed, he could see that in an instant.  Her eyes held all the wildness, all the innocence and wonder that Peter Pan's eyes once held.  _She's just like him now.  _

"He's going to die," she said softly, "and you killed him.  I love him and you killed him."

"Aye," Hook agreed.  There was no point in denying, and he offered no excuses.  It didn't matter if he intended for Peter to live or not, the boy was dying as a result of what he'd done.  But he steeled himself for an attack.  He had no doubt that if Wendy attacked him, he could defeat her.  But if she was like Pan now, she may be able to give him a good run first.  

"I want nothing more that to kill you, Codfish," Wendy said as she took to the air, flying to hover halfway between Hook and the bed.  "I want to hurt you like you hurt him, to rid Neverland of you forever!"  Her fists came up as her voice rose, and Hook could see her shaking.  Wendy took a deep breath, though, and calmed down.  "But he doesn't want me to.  You've already been hurt like he's hurting, and he thinks its still between you and him.  I know what Peter knows now, though I don't understand it.  I have to go home, to see Tinkerbell and tell her what's happened.  I have to comfort my boys.  Will you stand in my way, or do I get to kill you after all?"

Hook shrugged.  "I care nothing for you, girl, so you can go where you wish.  Peter is mine, though, so you'll go nowhere with him."

Wendy's eyes narrowed in fury, but she said nothing.  Instead she flew to the window, unlatched it, and left.  Several seconds passed after she disappeared before Hook remembered to breathe.  Somehow the thought of Wendy Darling with Peter Pan's abilities frightened him.  She had much more conviction, and a woman in a protective fury was a force Hell itself could not rival.

Hook glanced at the box on his desk.  If Wendy knew what was in there, she really would try to kill him.  Cookson had brought it to him earlier today, and he'd spent much time debating what he was going to do with it.  He'd commissioned the man to preserve the bones of Peter's hand, and given him strict instructions on how to do it.  None of the crew had been able to eat Cookson's fare for two days, the pot of water boiling on the stove, cooking the flesh off the hand, had sickened them all too much.  Mason had foolishly made the comment "Pan soup" the first morning, to which everyone that was near enough to smell the evil brew had turned green.  Billy Jukes had thrown up on the carpenter.  Once only the bones were left, Cookson had let them dry out and then given them to his Captain.

Hook put his hand on the box and smiled.  _My trophy.  Much better to keep it than to put it in the belly of the croc.  If he dies, I'll always have this as a reminder of my victory.  He opened his book again and returned to reading.  Unnoticed and forgotten by the door, Smee went to the bed to check on his young charge._

Hours later, Peter opened his eyes for one last time.  Smee was asleep, but Hook was just beginning to get ready to turn in and sleep on the thin pallet on the floor.  He heard the boy's low moan, saw him shift in the bed, and decided to see what he needed instead of waking the bosun.  He wetted the cloth again and put it to Peter's lips.  At the cold contact, the boy opened his eyes and stared at Hook.

"I hate you," the boy croaked.  

"Am I supposed to be surprised by that?" Hook asked mildly, letting the water drip onto the cracked lips.  Peter caught the drops with his tongue and gave a soft, regretful smile.  

"What's it like to grow up?  Does it hurt?" he asked.

Hook thought for a moment, remembering his years as a youth at Eton.  "Yes, in a way it does," he answered.  "Its not a sudden hurt, it's a long drawn out kind of hurting that sometimes never goes away."

"I suppose that's why grown-ups are so bitter," Peter mused.  "I'm glad I'll never know that bitterness myself."

Hook began rubbing the boy's face with the wet cloth.  The fire in the child's skin was unbelievable, so he tried his best to give Peter some kind of relief.  "You would have made a fine man one day," he offered.

Peter laughed, but the sound caught in his chest and turned into coughing.  "No," he gasped when he caught his breath.  "I knew I'd die a child."

Hook said nothing, instead he re-wet the cloth and continued bathing the feverish boy.  Peter also remained quiet, his eyes closing as he savored the coolness of the rag.  After awhile, Hook set the rag aside, thinking the boy was asleep.

"I'm sorry," Peter said softly.

"Pardon?" Hook asked, startled.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Captain," Peter repeated, his voice halting and weak.  It was harder to stay awake, but he needed to speak.  "Forgive me?"

Hook stared at the boy, incredulous.  "Forgive you?" he asked at last, his voice filled with disdain.  "It's a little late for forgiveness, boy!  If you'd truly regretted harming me, you'd have asked for forgiveness long before now."

Peter stared at Hook, tears welling up again.  But he didn't ask again or argue with the man.  Finally Hook stood and finished getting ready for bed.  Once he was done, he turned to look at the child.  Something wasn't right, he noticed that right off, but it took him several seconds to figure out what it was.  Peter's eyes were closed and he looked to be asleep.  Then the Captain realized that he wasn't breathing.  Peter Pan was dead.

Hook didn't sleep that night, and Smee sat up with him, making the boy's shroud.  They committed his body to the sea at first light, which the mermaids promptly claimed and carried away to the group of children, fairies and Indians standing upon the shore.  Hook wore the pouch for the first time that day, and not a day passed afterwards that it wasn't around his neck.  They were sailing away from the island before the boy's body had even reached the shore.


	6. Forgiveness

Chapter 6

Hook awoke again to the familiar throbbing headache and nausea known as a hangover.  It was pre-dawn, and the sky was only faintly touched with color to the east.  It relieved the man to see that this time he hadn't overslept.  Carefully he sat up and began getting ready for the day, impatient for Smee to arrive with his coffee.  When he was done dressing, though, he turned and saw that his bed was unexpectedly occupied.

Peter lay in the bed, the blankets pulled up high.  He lay as if asleep and he looked feverish, exactly as he had in Hook's dream.  "Pan," Hook sighed, "Please go away."  

Peter's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.  "You forgot," he said, his voice so lost and empty.  "I thought you were being hateful, but you really did forget."

"For a ghost, boy," Hook snapped, "you are dreadfully talkative sometimes."

Peter kept staring upwards, as if he didn't hear the man.  "You remembered so much of the time after I took your hand, things I didn't think you'd remember.  I thought for sure you remembered _that_, you were awake for it!"

"Remembered _what?" Hook growled._

"It was right after Billy first showed you your hook, when you were still sick and the wound too raw to put it on," Peter answered. 

Hook frowned.  The first time Billy had shown him the hook was when he'd recovered from his illness and could once again walk the deck… wasn't it?  Something else tickled his memory, and he concentrated, trying to remember.

"You promised me you'd kill me," Peter said as his eyes slipped shut.  "And Smee chased me out of your room with a broom."

Hook's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered.  Pan had come to his room again and played his pipes for him.  He'd been in the grips of his illness, and had thought the boy was merely a fever dream.  He remembered railing at the child, swearing to kill him, even trying to get out of bed to attack the boy.  He'd fallen, and Smee had come to his aid, chasing the boy out of the window with the brush end of the broom.  It really was comical in retrospect, but Hook was too busy trying to remember to appreciate the humor.

_There's something else… what else did Pan do?_  He closed his eyes and thought.  _I was lying on the floor… I couldn't get up at first, my arm hurt from falling on it and I was too weak.  Pan… he came to me… he said something…  Hook jerked suddenly and he stared at the ghost.  He remembered, like a bolt from the blue he remembered, and he was amazed that he could have so completely forgotten.  He remembered the boy bent over him, asking if he could help.  He remembered Peter getting his first close look at the stump, and the way the boy had begun to cry.  _

"You asked me to forgive you," Hook whispered.  "You told me it was an accident.  You asked me to forgive you for the wound and for throwing the hand overboard."  _And then I slapped you, and Smee ran in with the broom._

"You swore to kill me," Peter answered, "and thus my fate was sealed."

Hook stared at the boy for a moment, an odd whirl of emotions filling him.  _He apologized… in the beginning he apologized! _ He remembered his dream, remembered that in the end, Peter had apologized again.  _Both times I spurned him.  Dear god, no wonder he won't forgive me!  My last words to him were of scorn and hate, when all he wanted was for _me _to forgive him__!_

"Peter, why are you still here?" he asked the boy, and awful suspicion rising in his mind.

"Let me go," the boy asked, as he'd asked so many times before.

"How am I holding you here?  Give me the key so that I can free you!"

"You hated me for what I did to you, and your hate helped you live," Peter whispered as he once more began to cry, the sounds of anguish and desolation.  "Your hate killed me, and now it binds me here.  You'll never stop hating me!  I just want to go home!"

Hook knelt next to the bed and reached out for the boy.  He'd never touched the spirit before, and he was astonished when, instead of passing through, his hand settled on the child's chest.  "I don't hate you, Peter," he tried to console the boy, and he was surprised to find when he said the words that they were true.  He _didn't_ hate Peter anymore.  He hated himself too much to hate anyone else.  

Peter's tears subsided and he opened his eyes again.  "I hated you for hating me.  I hated you for not forgiving me.  I hated your men for helping you," Peter sighed and looked at Hook.  "It costs so much to hate.  I'm tired of hating and being hated.  I want to go home, where there's love and light.  So I let them go, when they asked me to:  Billy, then Mullins, and then the rest.  I tried to let you go, too, but I can't… you won't let me."

"But I don't hate…" Hook began, but Peter interrupted.

"Wendy told me once," he said bitterly, "'Judge not, and ye shall not be judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned.  Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.'  What a monumental lie that was!"  His eyes slipped closed, squeezing a few stray tears out.  

"Gall and brimstone, brat!" Hook growled.  "I forgave _you_, Peter, why can't you forgive _me_?"

Peter's eyes snapped open and he looked at the man in wonder.  "What?"

Hook bowed his head, his suspicions confirmed.  "I was wrong," the man whispered.  "You weren't here because you hadn't forgiven me, and it wasn't the remnants of your hand that bound you here either.  You couldn't leave because I never forgave you."  He looked back at the boy, meeting and holding the child's gaze… something he hadn't been able to do in a long time.  "I forgive you for the harm you caused me, Peter.  I don't hate you for it anymore.  I didn't remember that you tried to make peace in the beginning, but even if I had I doubt I would have forgiven you then.  I should have forgiven you when you lay dying, but I was still too spiteful to even give you that small comfort."  Hesitantly, he pushed a stray lock of hair away from Peter's face and it was like brushing away cobwebs.  "I forgive you, Peter, and I pray that you find release."

Peter smiled at Hook, and the man felt a weight lift from his soul.  "Thank you, Captain," the boy whispered.  "I forgive you too."  He reached up and took Hook's hand in his own.  The Captain saw with joy that it was a ghostly right hand, and not a stump.  

"You're whole again," Hook smiled.

"Yes, I'm free of your punishment," Peter answered.  "But now I'm so tired, Captain."

"Sleep, Peter," Hook urged the boy, "Goodnight, sweet prince, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

Peter chuckled, and it was a sound of amusement.  "Only one angel," he corrected, "and she isn't here yet.  But I'm free, Captain, and she can take me home soon."   He yawned and began to fade away once more.  "So tired…"

Hook watched until the child had completely disappeared before he rose and finished getting dressed.  Soon Smee brought his breakfast, and the old bosun was shocked to see his beloved Captain was smiling.  

"I've found peace," Hook offered as explanation, "as has Master Pan.  The poor child is resting at last."

"Well, now," Smee answered, grinning, "It's a relief ta know the wee ghostie won't be haunting us no more."

Hook nodded, but his good mood was diminished as he lifted the pouch from his desk.  He couldn't wear this anymore, but he was loath to give up his last connection to Peter.  Like cobweb kisses, he felt something stir against his cheek.  _I'm not gone yet, Captain… _Hook smiled once more and he put the pouch back on the desk.  For the first time since he buried Peter, he stepped out on the deck without the terrible burden.  He never wore it again.


End file.
